What We Fear

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Sound is something we fear, especially when unexplained.
When it comes from the unreachable light, who bears night’s stain.
When it is the shuffling outside, of an anonymous stalker.
Or the rustling by the window, of a terrible prowler.

It comes from the closet, a voice haunting and booming.
It comes from under the bed, eerie and looming.
From down the hall which echoes with fright.
Even from the attic, malice obscured from sight.

It’s the breath on your neck that’s never really there.
It’s the voices in your head raising your hair.
Hiding beneath the sheets won’t block out the sound.
You have no choice but to submit, for you will surely be found.

But what of those entities that do not make noise?
Are they not infinitely more dangerous, in their silent ploys?

They are tragic mistakes like stray bullets from a gun.
The drunk driver you don't see when you're out on a run.
The loose rung on a ladder, the pain in your chest.
The cancer in your body, that will put you to rest.

I fear them the most, the creatures without sound.
For they exist all around us, but can never be found.